


Slain and Maimed and Pacified

by Blue Rose (HailsRose)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Bathtub, Blood, Depression, Gen, It is Break Time and Dante is not doing too well, Merry Christmas, The Author regrets everything and nothing at the same time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-15 08:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16930056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HailsRose/pseuds/Blue%20Rose
Summary: The blood is a stark contrast to the white tile.Dante is thinking too much again and the loneliness and the whiskey are getting to him. Only one of these is a comfortable companion and he's pretty sure it's not the loneliness.





	Slain and Maimed and Pacified

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing something for another fandom in almost 2 1/2 years and I write angst?? Of course, I do. What kind of person does anyone take me for? Only the finest of angst for you all. Merry Christmas!!

The bitter cold of the bathroom's air gnawed at any warmth that seeped through the cracked open door. Devil May Cry had decent heating that liked to shut off in the middle of the night and there were chinks in the walls in the ceiling where Winter liked to give it's hostile season's greetings. The owner would have to account for buckets and trays to keep the melting Spring water from chewing away even more of his shop but he could deal. Though it wasn't ideal for the wound that marred his chest and abdomen or the solitude that threatened to seize him with old feelings.

Dante's vision spun like a record player, his ears buzzed with an unpleasant, tinny sound, and a swell of pain came every time he took a breath. The sound of demonic growls and crumbling rubble echoed in his head like a set of Carillon church bells. He thought for a moment he could feel the heat of those horrid salamanders from today's mission again. Or maybe it was the heat of his childhood home going up in flames. He couldn't decide. O mother where art thou? _Oh... right._ Dante couldn't help the miserable laugh that bubbled past his restraints and into the open air. He leaned his head back, arms propped up on the bathtub's sides and one hand curled around the neck of a whiskey bottle. A stabbing pain ricocheted against his ribcage.

"Owwwww," He moaned, free hand pressing against his stomach as he leaned over the side of the tub and fought to keep his dinner down. Blood welled up and gushed between his fingers, gladly staining the porcelain bath a shiny, bright red. God, it hurt. It hurt so damn badly. He considered for a moment turning on the tub and drowning his wounds but the decision to do it later ruled out. He let out a huff. "This suuucksss."

Why was it always stab wounds in his front that got his mind going? He didn't need to be thinking about this. ~~About his mom, about Vergil, damn you, damnyouVergil.~~ Especially when left to his own devices. Tearing open old wounds while words and memories bounced around the confines of his mind. _Failure._ His mother, burning away in agony, promising Dante that he would be safe. _Weak. **Powerless.**_ His brother, falling over the side into his own living hell, into silver ventriloquism strings and invigorated demonism. With all the power and protection he could've wanted, how ironic. ~~No, shut up, shut up!~~ Sometimes Dante wondered if Trish thought about it too. ~~If she had nightmares about it.~~ Of Mundus, of Mallet Island. If she knew of Nelo Angelo or his fate or if she was simply concerned with her own survival. Not that he could blame her, Mundus was a real bastard of a demon. 

Dante took a swig of his whiskey. The golden liquid burned and fizzed as it went down his throat, submerging his blood in alcohol, woodsmoke, and malt. And something else that reminded him of petrichor and green grass and wild blueberries in a grotto just a hop, skip and a jump away from the creek that streamed next to his parent's home. With its too many rooms and hallways and nooks and crannies perfect to hide in and its acres of trees to climb. God dammit. He was thinking too hard again. Dante decisively swilled another third of the bottle.

He eyed the trail of blood he left when he staggered in here after his most recent job.

Rebellion was leaned up against the wall, steel soaked through with demonic vital fluid, - some of it his own - the blood of his opponents, and whatever knows what else. It had seen the best and worst of his battle and For some reason, it liked to cause him the most physical pain, usually when someone else got their hands on it. Ebony and Ivory were lying on the marble counter next to an open container of oil and rubbing alcohol, muzzles cleaned back to pristine condition. Both of them gifts, one from his father, long forgotten, hardly thought about, and Nell. Oh, sweet Nell, how did she ever put up with the unwelcome discord that always tailed behind him? Of his sorrow and irritability and yearning for a proper family? 

"DAAAANTEEEEE!!" The sound of a cheerful, young voice and the Devil May Cry doors opening rang throughout the entire property. "It's snowing outside! Let's go build a snowman!!"

Dante chalked it up to Nell having all the patience of a saint and stood upright, finishing off the remnants of his whiskey and discarding it on the tile floor. He pulled his shirt over his head, continuously stripping down until he could clearly see all of his bloody injuries and the places where his skin had turned pink from healing over. Once he was done here, he could go greet Patty and see why she was so excited about the snow.

With that, he let the water run.


End file.
